Hide and Seek
by Lynzee005
Summary: My response to the MTT "Masked Ball" challenge. An alternate reality, where a different kind of gamble takes place on Casino Night...


Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

*****

She had to admit it: he had outdone himself. Michael's idea to host a masked ball charity event in the warehouse wasn't what anyone would have called a stroke of genius a week earlier. No one knew what to expect as they arrived that night, but she was sure that most were expecting to spend the night in the concrete box, surrounded by row upon row of metal shelves and paper products, maybe with some candles and a rented jukebox.

Pam, for one, certainly hadn't expected this.

"Why'd you make me wear this?" Roy complained as he stepped out of the truck and tugged on the hem of his one good suit. Pam ignored him, and the fact that he neglected to help her down. She was in awe. Nothing could penetrate that feeling.

The parking lot was encircled by fancy torches and streamers crisscrossing high overhead to form a colourful canopy. Potted plants wrapped with twinkling white Christmas lights lined a red carpet which snaked its way around the side of the building to the loading door, open to the night air but covered from ground to ceiling with plush, billowing red velvet drapery. Hank, the security guard, was dressed in a white suit and held open the curtain for the guests as they arrived, which was a good thing because otherwise no one could have found the entrance amidst the curtain's folds. Beside him stood Michael, wearing an entirely conspicuous Phantom of the Opera costume.

"Evening," Hank smiled as Pam walked by. Pam smiled even though her expression was hidden behind the beaded and feathered mask she wore. She curtseyed instead, feeling a tiny bit graceful as she did.

"Pam-a-roo," Michael intoned before taking her hand and laughing, "I vaaaant to suuuck your blooooood!"

Pam gently pulled her gloved hand out of his. "The Phantom wasn't a vampire, Michael."

"Well," Michael shrugged, before extending his hand to Roy, "And your knight in shining armour. It's nice to see you not in your work clothes, good sir."

Roy seemed amused even behind his Mardi Gras style eye mask. "I wanted to go as Batman but the little lady wouldn't allow it."

Michael guffawed, "Ohh! Uh-oh! Looks like our Pammy wears the pants at home!"

Pam shook her head, "See you later, Michael."

For a brief moment, Pam let her embarrassment get the better of her. But when she realized nobody had seen, she relaxed and took in her surroundings.

It was breathtaking. The concrete floor of the warehouse had been covered with shiny and warm parquet flooring, upon which a few couples were dancing. Tall candelabras encircled the room, which had been draped with the same fabric as the entrance curtain, making the room appear completely cocooned from the outside world and, indeed, nothing like a warehouse. The only light was given off by the candles, adding an ambience that was unrivaled in most of Pam's experiences. And, to top it all off, tucked into the corner was a small quartet playing what sounded like a Bach minuet. She didn't want to know how Michael paid for it, and for the night she was willing to overlook the lavish spending that could very probably result in even more job loss at the Scranton branch.

Pam wanted to share her excitement with someone. Smiling wide, she instinctively spun around. "Hey, Jim… ."

"Hmm?" Roy answered. Pam caught herself; underneath her mask, she blushed.

"Oh, nothing," she replied.

"I'm going to get a beer."

Just like that, he was off. Pam stood there, dumbfounded by the quickness of Roy's departure, her sudden aloneness, the queer fact that she'd reached out for Jim not ten seconds earlier. It was something that had been plaguing her for a while, ever since she and Roy had renewed their engagement and actually set a date for the wedding. It was made even worse by the fact that, during the day, every time she turned around, he was there. To talk to, to laugh with. Lately, in her dreams. Jim was always there. Pam brought a cool hand to her face and calmed the flush she felt on her cheeks and scanned the room for a friendly pair of eyes.

She could hardly see anything, and she didn't want to ruin the fun by taking off her mask. Even still, with everyone dressed to the nines and hiding behind masks, Pam knew that finding a friendly face would be hard. Michael had been easy to spot, and Hank wasn't really dressed up anyway. There were a few others she could see easily enough -- Angela, with her lacy collar done up to her chin and the Quaker-style bonnet covering her head; Kevin in the crushed velvet doublet and jerkin, with the wide-brimmed three-point hat tipped forward just enough for the large white feather tucked in the bank to flop over in his face. She knew where Roy was, but he wasn't who she was looking for. She searched for familiarity -- a gesture, his distinctive gait, a strand of brown hair flopping lazily over a disguised forehead -- and came away empty-handed.

Why are you looking for him? Pam asked herself. With a deep breath, she smoothed her hands down over her trim, fitted bodice and down the front of her dress, then made her way to the punch table.

The man standing with his arms locked in front of him, just off to the side, made Pam giggle. She stepped up beside him. "Guarding the beverages, Dwight?"

He did a double take. "How did you know it was me?"

Pam had to grin. "Lucky guess."

"Hmm," Dwight resumed his stance with a barely audible sigh. "We don't want some clown spiking the punch like last Halloween," the familiar voice spoke. He eyed her up and down, "You can never be too careful… ."

"Where would I hide the alcohol?" she alluded to her dress and the lack of clever hiding places. She hoped he wouldn't ask to see under the lining of her dress, and for a moment regretted bringing attention to her attire at all.

But, he seemed satisfied that she posed no threat, and so turned his attention away from her. Pam smiled and lifted her cup over the bowl and slowly ladled some of the pink, fruity concoction into it. As she returned the ladle to the bowl and dropped her hand to her side, she thought she felt something brush her pinky finger. Startled, she looked up to see who was there, but found no one; upon turning around to look behind her, she was met only with Dwight's sneering face, as he chastised her for splashing punch on the tablecloth.

Eerie, she thought, shaking her head and taking a sip of her drink as she stepped back against the drapery behind her. The quartet was playing something lively and upbeat now, and a few people were pretending that they knew how to dance to the music they were hearing. Pam sighed and tapped her foot, imagining she was the heroine in a Jane Austen novel, a beautiful, offbeat girl who is left to her own devices in a world which won't accept her and to which she refused to conform. Only the difference is that she, Pam, has conformed. She was no Elizabeth Bennett, that was for certain. If only she could just… .

Someone trailed their hand along Pam's upper arm, making the hairs stand on end. She spun around to look behind her, along the curtain where the person would have had to make their escape. But there was nobody there. Someone is hiding behind the curtain, Pam thought, and she set down her drink on one of the tables before hunting through the drapes for the opening. But she was soon frustrated on this avenue, as well, and the gap between panels that she assumed was nearby alluded her.

"What's wrong, Pam?" Phyllis' concerned voice piped into Pam's ear.

Pam straightened herself and took a breath, "Nothing, I just… I thought I felt something."

"Hmm," Phyllis cooed, "Well, I haven't seen anything," she smiled and leaned forward to whisper, "But then again, in this light, I can't see much of anything." She straightened up and nodded, and it struck Pam then just how similar Phyllis was to that grandmother she always wished she'd had. "The trouble a girl could get into in these dark corners."

Pam could imagine Phyllis wiggling her eyebrows up and down as she said it, and it made her smile.

"Roy looks handsome tonight, doesn't he? You should dance with him."

Pam nodded appreciatively and felt the tight ringlets at the back of her neck bounce up and down against her skin. "Thanks Phyllis, but Roy's got two left feet."

"You can borrow Bob," Phyllis offered, but Pam shook her head and took up her drink as Phyllis was pulled out onto the dance floor by her loving boyfriend.

It all made Pam sick. Her boyfriend -- fiancè -- had beelined for the bar the moment they arrived. Why couldn't she have someone who wanted to be with her instead of always knocking back a cool one? She finished off her punch quickly, and a little bit dribbled out of the corner of the cup; she wiped it with the back of her gloved hand, not caring if it stained. She'd never wear the gloves again, or the dress. She wondered why she had bothered to buy it, and the shoes that matched underneath all that crinoline and satin, and the curling iron she'd needed to get such spirals out of her kinky tresses, and the beautiful mask with the satin ribbon that tied in the back and obscured her face from the crowd. It was only when she felt the sharp sting of tears on her lashes that she was grateful that nobody would see her crying.

Stop being so foolish! Pam chastised herself. You could have said no to Roy. You could have said yes to art school all those years ago, to that scholarship that would have gotten you out of Scranton and away from the boredom and lifelessness you're stuck with now!

But then you would have never met Jim.

Pam smiled in spite of herself at the thought of him and what he meant to her. It was a strange paradox, their friendship. If she'd left when she'd had the chance, she wouldn't be in the place she was now; she'd be happier, freer, liberated. She would have no need for someone like Jim to fill the role he'd filled these long years at Dunder Mifflin. Maybe she didn't need Jim after all; maybe she needed him because she was stuck in Scranton, stuck with Roy. Wasn't that it?

The pang of disappointment that hit her square in the chest at the realization that she hadn't seen Jim since she'd arrived, and the thought that he was either there and hadn't come to see her or that he wasn't there at all, surprised her. It made her wish someone had spiked the punch, and she was suddenly resentful of Dwight.

She was about to go back for seconds when, for the third time that evening, she felt a mysterious touch. This time, warmth in the small of her back, a hand wrapping itself around her middle, lightly fingering the edge of her bodice. She fought her fear and reached her hand around to grab the hand that held her. She surprised herself when she caught it, and the owner of the hand surprised her by grasping her fingers and pulling her through the gap in the curtains.

"What the--?" she called out, but her words were silenced by a soft hand and long fingers covering her mouth. In the dim glow that radiated through the drapes and against the ceiling above, Pam could barely make out who it was standing in front of her. The hand that brushed her waist now gripped her in the small of her back, the arm connected to it supporting her at a hairsbreadth from the body in front of her. She didn't fight the gloved hand on her lips. Fingers brushing lightly against the skin there sent tingles of excitement through her body. She closed her eyes for a second and inhaled a shaky breath as the hand shifted away.

"Don't move," a voice -- a man's voice -- whispered.

"Where would I go?"

A short silence, then: "Away."

Pam stood perfectly still. It hadn't occurred to her to be frightened, or to fight against whoever it was that was kissing her behind the curtain when she had a boyfriend -- fiancè! -- on the other side; on the contrary, the whole experience was exciting, and she was lost in the moment. Before she knew what was happening, she felt his lips against her forehead, a hand on her face. The lips moved, replacing his hand of her face, and kissing a line from her brow to her jaw. Pam tilted her head to the side, granting him more access. She brought her hands up to try and grab hold of something; she found support in his broad shoulders, and circled her arms around them to steady herself. His lips found trailed down to her ear, then down further to the soft part where her neck met her shoulder, the spot that drove her wild with excitement. She felt a long-absent tingling between her legs and caught herself moaning into the soft shirt of her captor as he pressed his lips into her flesh, teasing and biting her between soft kisses.

She arched her back and pressed their bodies closer together, and his lips traversed the length of her collarbone to the hollow at the base of her throat. With nothing to muffle the sounds of her moans, Pam bit her lip to keep from calling out loud to the heights of the warehouse ceiling. The man's hands continued to grip the back of her corseted bodice, his fingers flexing to pull her close and tangling in the ties binding the fabric together. The long dormant burn that had ignited within her was stoked by the prodding of his long fingers along her backside, her thighs, her breasts. She began to lose her balance, a dangerous situation as she stood with her back still against the fabric of the makeshift velvet wall. But as she tipped her head forward and tried to regain her balance, the strong arms shot out to steady her, and she stood up safely in the comfort afforded her there.

A soft laugh escaped her throat, and she heard it returned from his lips. It was a sound she recognized, one she had heard often. And when she snapped her eyes open, despite the fact that she could barely see, in her mind's eye she saw the face of the man in front of her, imagined the look on his face as he drank her in the same way he always did, day in and day out. She had always suspected but had never known; was this his way of telling her? A wave of tenderness overtook her. If this was the only way she'd ever get to be with him, she was going to take advantage of every second of it.

Bolstered by a sense of urgency and her own sudden gumption, Pam lifted herself up on to her tip toes -- another clue -- and pressed her lips to where she was pretty sure his lips were, surprising herself by landing a perfect bullseye on the first attempt. She pressed her hands to the back of his neck and pulled him to her. His lips parted first, and the gentle, timid meeting of their tongues sent butterflies whirling through Pam's stomach. She sighed audibly against his mouth.

When she pulled away finally, she realized his hands were still resting protectively on her hips, holding her to him. She had no idea how long they'd been behind the curtain, but she knew she should be getting back. A self-conscious check of her hair yielded a strange response from the man in front of her.

"You look beautiful."

"How can you see me?"

His lips pressed against the cup of her ear, "I don't have to see you to know that you're beautiful, Pam."

"This isn't fair," she whispered back, "You know me, but I don't know you. Who are you?"

"I think you know."

He kissed her once more on the cheek, and Pam, sensing that their time together was coming to an end, stepped forward into his embrace, inhaling his scent and locking the memory of their minute or two in heaven deep within her memory for safe keeping. The urge to cry almost overtook her, and she swallowed hard as she stepped away again and reached for the gap in the curtain. She paused on the threshold, knowing that one step was all that stood between the ecstasy she had just felt and the drudgery that lay ahead. But as she turned around to consult with the warm shadow that taught her to feel again, she realized she was alone. Her smile left her face and she couldn't help but feel a little dejected as she slipped through the space between the panels and back into the makeshift ballroom unnoticed in the dim candlelight.

Less than an hour later, Roy decided he wanted to go, so Pam offered to walk him out to the truck. She figured that she could get a ride from Phyllis and Bob if she had to. On her way out, she overheard Michael talking to Jan.

"How did you pay for all this?" she wanted to know.

"Well…," he waffled, trying to be coy, but he broke down. "I didn't. I chipped in what I could, but to be honest, Jim paid for the rest of it."

Pam felt her heart flutter at the mention of his name, and the thought that the whole evening had been orchestrated by him. She barely paid attention as Roy got into the truck and backed out of the parking stall, and when she kissed him goodbye through the open window, it felt wooden and lifeless. Even when Roy called out to the man coming around the corner of the building -- "Hey Halpert!" he'd yelled -- Pam didn't register it. It was only as Roy drove away, leaving the flickering light of the torches and the Christmas lights on the red carpet as the only illumination, did Pam turn around to face him.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

He cleared his throat. "Uhh... back there... did you...?"

He seemed to think better about his line of questioning and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. She smiled at how shy he'd become all of a sudden.

"Hey, can I talk to you about something?"

He was blushing -- his mask rested on top of his head and his cheeks were flushed with colour, and despite the warmth of the spring night, beneath his plain cotton tunic, he was shivering. Pam closed the gap between them, and as he started to speak, she pressed her hand to his lips like he'd done less than an hour before. His surprise melted into her fingertips, and he looked down sheepishly. She lifted his chin with her index finger and looked him in the eye.

"It's you, Jim," she whispered, into the ear of a man who'd waited so long to hear those words and had gone so far to see them realized that he couldn't believe he was hearing them. He didn't know what to do with his hands -- Pam felt them circle her waist and then pull away again just as quickly. So she dropped her voice to a husky tone and breathed against his skin just enough to prickle it under her touch: "It's always been you."


End file.
